


The Snowy Affair

by el3anorrigby



Series: Illya and Napoleon Drabbles [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Drabble and a Half, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:38:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4957117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's exactly what the title says. Illya and Napoleon and lots of snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Snowy Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [duneline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duneline/gifts).



A lull in their mission means Napoleon and Illya have too much time on their hands as they wait for Gaby to come back from a meeting with their local contact. While she’s away, they’d planned a reconnaissance but it’s Geneva in December and the heavy snowfall from the night before means they have to abandon their plans. They’d walked a quarter through the snow field towards their intended destination when Illya decides to double back to their cabin, much to Napoleon's consternation. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve walked in this much snow,” Napoleon says, almost a grumble. “If we go back, there’ll be nothing for us to do but wait for Gaby. You know, I didn't sign up for this boredom.”

“Just keep up, Cowboy,” Illya orders from in front of him. Then he turns and gives Napoleon a warning. “And don’t think to do anything stupid.”

Napoleon retorts, says something unintelligent which Illya can’t hear. As he sees the vast field covered with layers of snow in front of him, he suddenly smiles as an idea hits him. He walks and trudges his way carefully along the snow, his feet sinking deeper in it. He is a few yards behind the Russian. Then he stops and drops down to his knees. He picks up a handful of snow with his gloved hands, slowly shaping it into small snowballs. Once done, he places them by his feet and grins, seemingly satisfied with his work of art. He then picks a couple in his hands and weighs the distance of his intended target. And with precision, he throws them hard and then…

“Ahh! What the…! Solo!” 

A loud shout, a few Russian expletives, a desperate attempt to escape a very annoyed Russian and before Napoleon knows anything he is sprawled on his back with a heaving Illya landing heavily on top of him. Illya straddles and pins him, pushing him down with one arm across his chest. Napoleon’s cheeks are flushed and his breath comes out in short gasps. 

“Damn it, Peril! You don’t have to take it so personal.”

“You should not have done that,” Illya growls. He grapples his free hand to grab a handful of snow and realising Illya’s intention, Napoleon raises a hand to shield himself from the attack. But Illya tricks him. Instead of shoving the snow on his face, he digs his freezing ungloved hands underneath the layers of Napoleon’s clothing and run it all over his torso, the contact of warm against freezing cold making the American yelp.

“Ahh, fuck, Peril! No! Your hands are freezing!” Napoleon wails and cries as he desperately tries to pry the torturous hand away but Illya’s firm grip does not relent and Napoleon finally has to surrender meekly, irritated with himself for easily giving up against his smirking partner.

“You don’t listen. Told you not to do anything stupid.”

Napoleon whimpers but slowly the corner of his lips curls into a smile. However, that little grin does not escape Illya’s attention. He realises he’s fallen into Napoleon’s trap.

“You are devious, Cowboy. You did this so we’ll be in this position. Then you’ll say sorry and you give me that puppy look. And I’ll feel like a bastard and then I’ll end up kissing you, am I right?”

“Well, if you want to put it that way, I’m not gonna argue,” Napoleon murmurs, his voice low and husky but also having that oh so satisfied tone to it. 

Illya feels he’ll go crazy if he doesn’t do anything to wipe that smirk off Napoleon’s face and quickly devises a plan in his head. His lips hover closer on Napoleon’s and seeing that as great opportunity to kiss Illya, Napoleon lurches forward to capture his lips but Illya evades him just as he is about to make contact. Napoleon groans as his head thuds back against the snow. 

“Ah, am I being punished for what I did?” he then asks innocently. He tries to snake his arms around Illya’s waist, to pull him close, but fails. 

“You give up, Cowboy?” Illya questions but never one to back down from a challenge, Napoleon scoffs. “Not gonna give up. I don’t mind any kind of punishment, Peril. I can take it.”

“My punishment for you is not doing anything you want me to do to you. I think that’s a good enough punishment.”

Napoleon’s eyes go wide with mock horror. When Illya continues to do nothing, he tries to squirm but the Russian’s hold on him remains strong. He whimpers. “You cannot do this to me.”

“And why not?” Illya asks defiantly, loving the authority he has over the pouting American. “You said you could take it.”

Knowing he’s about to lose the game, Napoleon tries to switch tactics.

“Illya, it’s getting cold here. Don’t you think we should make our way back, move inside to our room and discuss this? Seriously, it’s getting really cold with all this snow around us. You’ll warm me up when we’re inside, okay?”

Illya shakes his head. “But it’s not often we’re out in snow like this. We should enjoy it. Is more fun, Cowboy.”

Napoleon pouts his lips, trying his best to entice Illya into giving up. Instead, Illya tears Napoleon’s snow hat and scarf off from his head and neck. The sudden chill hits Napoleon hard but when Illya’s tongue licks the outer shell of his ear, he temporarily forgets the cold and swears he’d died and gone to heaven. In the meantime, his own hands have traveled south and catches Illya unaware. Illya lets out a sudden gasp when he feels Napoleon’s hands grabbing his thighs. Then he groans when Napoleon presses a hand firmly against his crotch.

“Solo,” his voice mutters, the tone dangerously low and for all of his Russian professed self control, Illya can’t help but crush his lips on Napoleon’s delectable ones. A small moan escapes Napoleon’s throat. He lets Illya govern his senses for now, losing himself in the breathless kiss. When Illya’s mouth travels along his jawline, making its way infuriatingly slow towards his neck, Napoleon gives out a little cry, shivers helplessly. 

“Illya, you’re killing me. Your lips…your lips… too cold…”

“Hmm, but you like it, don’t you?” he whispers as he flicks his tongue on Napoleon’s exposed throat. “It’s only cold for a bit but you’ll warm up real soon.”

Napoleon does not have an answer and could not answer even if he wanted to because the owner of those luscious lips has slid further down…down…further down still until…

 

“Cowboy? Wake up, sleepy head.”

Napoleon opens his eyes slowly to see Illya peering down at him. He groans. “Why did you wake me up?”

Illya raises an eyebrow at Napoleon who’s now rubbing his eyes and lazily stretching his arms before blinking a couple of times. 

“Because you need to get up from your nap. Gaby will be here in an hour.” 

Napoleon still have an annoyed look and Illya leans in, kisses his temple.

“Cowboy, are you with me?” Illya snaps his fingers in front of Napoleon’s face and frowns when he doesn’t get a reaction. “What is wrong with you?”

“Hmm, I dreamt there was snow, and we’re walking through it and then we were…” Napoleon pauses.

“We were what?” Illya asks, intrigued.

“We were doing things in the snow.”

“Things?” Illya asks, with a hint of mischief. He leans in closer and in a blink of an eye, he's straddled Napoleon. Napoleon catches the glint in his eyes and understands exactly what he’s thinking. 

“Uhm, Illya? Gaby will be here soon,” he protests, but it comes out meek and halfhearted. Because oh, does he want Illya now. 

“Don’t worry about Gaby, we have time. So Cowboy, your dream. What were we doing?” Illya murmurs against his lips. “You will explain?”

Napoleon smiles. “No, I think I’ll just show it to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't mind me posting TMFU fics and all the fluff. I'm just having Illya/Napoleon non stop muse.  
> It'll die down, I promise. Appreciate your time reading this. Thanks, lovelies. :)


End file.
